


Winds of Change

by orphan_account



Category: Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (2011), Wild Target (2010)
Genre: AU, Hector has a potty mouth, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse, Rating May Change, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-16 16:40:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1354351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some people have 'em, some people don't. Hector doesn't...or so Peter thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> AKA worldbuilding, making things up as I go along, and what the hell am I doing.
> 
> Based off a headcanon I submitted to [Guixonlove](http://guixonlove.tumblr.com/post/77129191140/wing-au-some-people-have-them-some-people-dont)

There was a frighteningly tiny boy sitting on the stoop across the street.

Amy stared, almost dropping her groceries onto the wet pavement. Not that it would have made a difference anyways; they were already soaked from the long walk. She suddenly wished she remembered her umbrella so she could offer it to the boy across the street. 

She hurried across, but slowed as she approached. The boy seemed even smaller up close. Dirty blond hair, bright blue eyes that seemed to reflect the grey world around him, tiny tawny wings spotted with white curled around his bare arms. Her treacherous brain chose that moment to comment  _he'll have a hard time getting a girlfriend later in life with those dull, tiny things._ She mentally slapped herself. The future love life of a five-year-old was the least of her worries. 

She knelt down next to him. "Are you all right?" She inquired softly. "Are you hurt? Where are your parents?"

He regarded her warily for a second, then mumbled, "This is my house. I'm in trouble for dropping a plate."

She frowned. It was abominable that a parent would let their child sit out in the pouring rain wearing nothing but threadbare pajamas. She pulled out an apple from her grocery bag and offered it to him, but he shook his head. "My pa'll...I'll get in even more trouble if I take it." 

Almost on cue, someone inside the house yelled, "Julian! Go fetch your little bastard brother! Don't let him drip on the floor!"

Footsteps, then the door opened to reveal an older boy, this one without wings. He seemed startled to see her for a second, but when she stood and backed up a few paces, he elected to ignore her. "Hector..."

The younger made a sad noise and stood. His brother murmured, "We'll be waiting with dinner like usual. I'll try to get the first aid kit from the bathroom while he's..." A pause, then a swallow, then he forged ahead. "Distracted."

He offered his hand to the smaller boy, who immediately clutched it like a drowning man would a life preserver. The odd pair disappeared inside the house.

Amy watched them go, then turned away herself, vowing to call the police as soon as she got home.

Thirteen wet blocks later, she forgot.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hector has a potty mouth. Sorry.

Hector stood in front of his bathroom mirror and began unknotting his tie. The worst part of his new job was have to wear a goddamn suit every day. Honestly, _why_?

"I should have joined the Q-branch." he grumbled out loud, as he flung the offending item off (it landed somewhere in the shower) and started on the buttons of his shirt. "They don't have to wear a fucking suit and tie all day long. Lucky Fucks."

He made short work of his shirt, dropping it to the floor. He knew he'd have to iron it later, but fuck it, that's later. What mattered right now is getting the stupid bandages off so he could breathe properly again.

Unwinding the bandages that crisscrossed his chest and back was a relief. He took the first big gulp of air he could since that morning when he put then on, then turned his attention to the real problem.

His wings were _hateful_. They barely made the distance between his the tops of his legs and the top of his head. Where eye-catching, shiny wings were desired, his were dull and mousy, mud-brown spotted with grey and white like a previously snow-covered field that was trampled over by children. Or maybe a herd of cows. On top of that were the white scars that varied in size, a constant reminder of a tormentor long gone. Worst of all was the uselessness of them--if he could fly with them, it may have been able to take the sting of owning them away, but circumstances worked against ever letting him taste the freedom featured in books, movies, television, magazines.

He stared at his dead weights for a long moment, then shook his head violently and picked up the pamphlet lying on the counter. He had managed to snag it the last time he visited the infirmary, but failed to work up the courage to peek inside before today, when he had to sidestep Peter's affectionate hug once again and happened to glance at his face, glimpsing his disappointment at being unable to show his adoration. The guilt that nagged at him the rest of the day made up his mind: he'd at least research it. It wasn't like he had to make a decision right now.

The soft, mint green cover announced the pamphlet's purpose in bold, no-nonsense words:  **Pinioning: Whether Total Surgical Removal of Your Wings is Right for You.**

Pinioning was a controversial subject. The general consensus, alata and tabula rasa alike agreed that owning wings was a gift that must not be squandered. Although pinioning was usually used to remove dangerously infected or damaged wings, some used it to remove their wings when they had been non-fatally injured but could no longer fly anymore. Either way, there was a stigma attached to carelessly removing a wonderful part of you, never mind the reason for the removal. Pinioned were usually shunned to the point of being forced to leave their community, starting a completely new life elsewhere as a TR. 

He opened up the pamphlet and began to read. Pain levels (he's been tortured before, not a problem), finding a reputable surgeon (John's a doctor, he'll just blackmail him), post-op (he's been wearing those stupid bandages everyday for twenty years now, he can wear them a bit longer), recovery period (might be a bit of a problem, but he can say that he's repaying a debt or some bullshit like that), stigma associated with it (no one knows he's an alata, won't be a problem)...this pamphlet seemed very biased towards not pinioning, yet Hector could find a counterpoint for every thing they argue. There was nothing stopping him from getting rid of the stupid burden he's been carrying around all his life.

He dropped the paper onto the counter and went to the bedroom to get ready for bed. Tomorrow was Saturday; he could pay a visit to John. Just to make sure he'll do it.

***

John opened the front door. He blinked at the person on his doorstep for a long second, then grinned and stepped forward. Hector accepted the hug graciously, patting John awkwardly on the back.

As they entered the flat, John asked, "What do you need?"

Hector blinked innocently at him. "Why do you assume I need something?"

"Because you never visit in person unless you want something. It's usually those stupid little texts--and you need to stop sending me those, by the way, I work with the fucking Met! Tea?"

"Bitch, I'll send you as many photos of my victims as I want. And yes, that'll be nice."

Once John had made both of them a cup of tea, he sat on his chair while Hector sat on the couch. 

"Well?"

Stalling, Hector glanced around the flat. "Where's Holmes?"

John waved his hand as he took a sip of tea. "He's out. Probably at St. Bart's. Now stop trying to change the subject and spit it out."

"I..." Hector chewed on his lip for a moment, then continued. "I'm thinking about pinioning."

John set his cup down and sat back. "And you're going to ask me to do it."

"I...yeah. It'll be too much of a hassle to go to an actual clinic. Too easy for them to find out. But Jay has a solid backdoor into the cameras on Baker Street, and I since don't need to pay you..."

John pursed his lips, looking pensive. "It's a relatively simple procedure. But I'm not going to compromise your health, so-"

"But you have your boyfriend's brother, the fat government. What's his name? Micheal?"

"Mycroft. Yes, I know I can ask him, but it's still-look, it's a big decision, and-"

"But I'm not going to do it tomorrow, I'm still thinking and-"

"Then think about it some more."

Seeing Hector bite his lip and transfer his gaze to his hands, John sighed and leaned forward again. "Listen, Hector, this isn't a no. In fact, it's actually a yes--if anyone had to do it, I'd want it to be me so I can make sure it's as safe as possible. If we go through with it, I _will_ talk to Mycroft and try to get the room, equipment...he owes me a few favors. But, at the same time...just, I don't know. I don't want you to do it, but it's your decision. I'll still support you, no matter what, yeah?"

Hector glanced at his face again. "Alright, thank you. That's...all I'm here for, really. Seeing if you're willing to help.

"Well, I am."

An awkward pause, then Hector stood up. "I'll be leaving now. Before Sherlock gets home."

"All right."

But as he turned to leave, John asked quietly, "Can I ask you why now? I know you've been thinking about it for a while, and I figured it'll be a matter of time before you came to me, but this is the first time you actually asked. What changed?"

Hector grinned, but it came out sadder then he meant it to. "I found someone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I you'd studied Latin, Psychology, or Philosophy, you'll recognize "tabula rasa" as "blank slate." I use it (and an abbreviation, TR) to talk about "non-winged" people.  
> Keeping with the theme, alata means "winged" in Latin. I may refer to that in abbreviation, too, as "ala"  
> I know pinioning is not chopping off wings, but it seemed a good enough term to use.  
> Usually I headcanon John as Hector's twin brother, but for the purposes of this fic he's his older brother. Wheter Sherlock is actually John's boyfriend or if it's just Hector being a little shit is up to you.  
> I'm also aware that using bandages to bind your chest is really bad for you, but I'm just handwaving that as 'he's a bit desperate and John's a doctor."


End file.
